Caught in a Moment
by RoBoC
Summary: Two souls...equal yet opposite, both lost, both struggling to survive in a world that makes no sense to them, both consumed by the fear that haunts them and neither with the faintest idea of where theyre going...One Shot...just an idea I had.


_A/N: Ok, so here we are: the obligatory author's note at the start of a new fic. This is where I normally introduce the story and tell you about the fic and its origins etc…well…not this time. There's nothing much to say really, it just occurred to me the other day that, sometimes, everything in your life can change in just a single moment, and, often, you don't know why, or even how it happens at the time. It was an interesting thought I had, and so I decided to explore that idea as it were, by writing this little one shot. _

_Like it/Hate it…let me know…feel free to leave a review. And while you're at it, why not check out my Affnet account (linked in my profile)…I have some fics there that are on the mature side of NC-17…so if that sort of thing isn't for you, best steer clear. _

_Thanks _

_RoBoC _

_PS: To those of you who are fans of my fic, Call of the Circle, you may have noticed that it hasn't been updated in a while. Well, don't worry, I am NOT abandoning it. The truth of the matter is that I have been somewhat swamped of late, and haven't had time to work on it…keeping track of THAT much plot takes a lot of work…anyways, I'll update soon, I swear. _

**Caught in a Moment**

A moment isn't a long time is it…that's why it's called a moment. It isn't even long enough to warrant an exact definition in most dictionaries. All they have to say on the subject is that it a moment is, "a very brief period of time," which doesn't really do it the word justice when you think about it. Not when you take the time to consider how important a moment can be. Oh it's fair to say that some moments, the vast majority of them in fact, are pretty useless. There have been several useless moments since you began this story …but no matter. Some moments, a rare few, are different…let me show you.

This is a story about a girl. "HA, aren't they all?" I hear you say. I suppose you have a point. If you look hard enough and deep enough, then you will find that all stories are about one girl or another…except the ones that aren't of course.

I any case, as I said, this story is about a girl, and this is the point in some stories where you expect to discover all the great and wonderful things about the protagonist; all that she has done, all that she hasn't done, all that she is and all that she is going to be. And who am I to disappoint you?

This girl is special, but not in the sense that you're probably thinking right now. Special is such an over used word, and let me tell you, this particular girl would be the first to tell you that it has no real meaning when you get right down to it. What is special? What does it mean to be special? Do you know? Does anyone? I don't, that's for sure, and neither does our girl. She certainly doesn't think she's anything special, quite the opposite in fact. If you were to ask her, she'd tell you that she is far from special, - at a push, she may just admit to you that she's clever, and on a good day, she might even throw in honest or perhaps loyal, but not special, never special. No, all that you'd normally hear from her would be that she is just a normal girl, plain and simple.

Now let us not get bogged down in arguing over her choice of words. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder after all and, dependant on who is doing the beholding, she may in fact be plain…HAHA…calm down will you? I never said that I consider her to be ugly, and you're reaction tells me that you don't think so either, so let's just take that as a given, shall we?

Right…where was I…Oh yes…I remember…Now then, beauty aside, let me say this before we go any further; clever she may be, but between you and I and the four walls, sometimes she is just too dumb for her own good.

Well…perhaps dumb is too strong a word. I suppose if I'm to be completely fair and impartial, then the more accurate way of describing her is that she is overly critical, both of other people, and, most especially, of herself.

Put another way, for our girl, nothing short of perfection is ever good enough. No matter the task or the occasion, she has to do everything spectacularly, and achieve flawless results. Nothing less than the best will do for her…I can see that you think I'm being harsh…perhaps, but I don't think so. You may look at her and see one thing, but I don't find any conceit in saying that I see more…or perhaps simply deeper than you do.

I look at this girl, and I see a person with something to prove, to you, to me, to the whole world, and, most importantly, to herself.

More than anything else, she needs to be accepted…to find her place in this world. She needs for this to truly be her home. She wasn't born to this life, I needn't tell you that. The world she was born in is a far cry from this one, but in the end, she had a choice to make and she chose to be here. Now…now she has to live with that choice. There is no turning back, not for her. Where another might simply give up and walk away, she will persevere, there is simply no other choice open to her. For better or worse, this is the world in which she has chosen to exist and, above all else, this is where she belongs, rather, where she wants to belong. Sadly though, to her, that is far from the truth.

Oh on the surface she seems fine. This is her world and she's perfectly happy in it. She struts around these halls, radiating success and perfection at every turn, and looking every inch as though she was born for this life. But that's just the surface…that's what she wants you to see.

Beneath the veneer is another story. Inside in her core, the confident and secure young woman you see there doesn't exist. Inside, she is still that frightened little girl that chose to put aside everything she knew to be true, to leave her home and her family and the shelter of her childhood and walk, headlong and bold, into the unknown. When she looks back at it now, it strikes as odd it was that the decision wasn't harder to make. That little girl, that child, made the choice to start an entirely new life, without it even occurring to her to say no. Perhaps she was wrong, perhaps she was too young and chose this path before fully understanding what that meant, but regardless, the choice was made.

Oh she made it well to be sure, and no one can argue that she bore the strain of the transition less than admirably. Yet in spite of that, despite all that she has become, deep down, buried within that private part of her that no one sees, she still remembers the truth.

This is not her world, not the life she came from. This place may be many things, wonderful and terrible alike, but it is not the home she thought it would be. Her friends are loyal, and they make her feel like she belongs with them. There was even a time when she had convinced herself that it was true, but no more, that happiness was but a thin shield, and all too quick to wear through. Everywhere she turns, there is another reminder that she is not of this place. There are things here that just will never be normal to her. Her friends too, they show her the truth every day, though she knows they don't mean to. Intent is irrelevant. The tone of their voice as they speak to her, or the little looks that she is not supposed to see them pass between them betray their feelings. They laugh with her, they take care of her, they even love her, and she them, but she is not one of them and she never will be. She is adrift and alone in an alien world, surrounded, not by acceptance, but by tolerance. She is different, and deep down inside her, she knows it. The people around her, her friends in this world will only ever learn to ignore that difference, but she can't, no matter how much she might want to.

Deep in her mind lies the terrible, unthinkable truth. This is not her world, and it never will be. Time and experience have made it familiar, but they can never make it home. Facing that thought, and the knowledge that her time here has changed her, rendered her alien to the world she left behind is too painful to even consider. She is in limbo, but she doesn't want to know it. So she drives on, forever running flat out, reaching all the time for the next gold star, seeking out the next limit to push…out of fear. Fear of what happens when she stops running and faces her truth. She can't.

Maybe though, just maybe if she keeps going, she won't have to face that moment. Maybe the years of effort and struggle will pay off. Perhaps the strain will burn the fear away and leave her in peace. Perhaps, if she is always the best at everything she does, then she can make this world, the one she chose to live in, her own. That is her only solace, and why she is so critical of herself. Nothing but perfection will earn acceptance. No mistake, no flaw, no missed step can be tolerated, because if she trips, if she stumbles and falls, she knows there is no way that she will be able to get back to her feet again. Her goal, the life she's chasing will slip away, and she will be left an empty shell.

Chasing a life…it's a tough goal, and even she admits to herself that it isn't easy. The very thought of it consumes her consciousness to the point where she walks now, as one in a trance. She is fixated. Her mind is set on her goal. Concentrate and push…struggle and drive…one step at a time, one day at a time. This is all she's had for years, and yet the end never seems to come within sight. She is tired, so very tired of running. Hope! All she has is hope. Maybe this will be the day the battle ends…maybe this is the day she can rest, or maybe it's the day that she doesn't pay attention to where she's going and she trips and falls flat on her face…

Enter the boy…

No story is about one person, and this is no different. Here we have a boy. In many ways, he is the polar opposite of the girl. Where she is modest, he exudes arrogance. Her polite shyness is mirrored by his brash persona.

This boy would be the first to point out all of the qualities that make him better than everyone else. First, there is his heritage, the blood of his ancestors, which gives him the right to look down his nose at the world. Then there is his wealth, again given, not earned, yet which affords him the opportunity to laud the finery he is accustomed to over those around him. There is also the fact that, since the day he could walk, the privilege of his name has supported him and carried him through open doors that would stand shut against another.

And yet, with him as with the girl, this is not the real story. It is just the façade, which hides the truth. It is easy for one in his position to act as he does. When you can be sure, without bothering to count, that your pocket holds twice that of the person you're speaking to, it is rather hard in fact, not to feel a degree of superiority. When one is raised in a world where who you are is dictated by the names inscribed above you on your family tree, when those names are applauded and spoken with respect and reverence even decades after they mark the grave of their owners, when their faces, long dead and yet proud and noble, stare at you from their immaculately maintained portraits, is it not right for you to absorb a sense of pride, knowing that the blood and the honour of those people runs in your veins? When the locked doors of power and privilege open before you at the mention of your name, and those who wield that very power stand to usher you inside, is it not natural for you to walk through, perhaps even without considering the choice of not stepping forward, or even the very direction you're headed or whether the destination is somewhere you want to go?

Yes, to act the snob when one is raised a snob is the easy course, and he does it well for he knows no other way. This is the only world he has ever known, so who are we to judge him for acting as he does? But consider now that you are where he stands. Place a hand in your pocket and then consider that the weight of each coin you bear was measured against innocent blood. Consider that those very ancestors, to whom you raised a glass and a salute on occasions too numerous for recollection, are the very people who spilled that blood for the sheer sport of it. Consider also that each of those locked doors through which you passed was, in turn, closed behind you, and that now you find that you are stranded alone in a dark and terrible place, with nothing but the blood money in your pocket and the sneer on your lips to protect you. Consider that all you want is out, to break free and live your life as you see fit, then consider that you don't have the faintest idea how to do that? Or, for that matter, what you would do with your life if it were yours to command.

Nothing you've ever had was yours. Not the life you led, not the friends you thought you had, not even the money you spent, nor the toys it bought you. All of it was a lie, a gambit played out in someone else's twisted game. The world you grew up in, where you thought you belonged doesn't even exist. It was all a charade, nothing more than a brief interlude between acts. You're a bit player and you aren't even fully sure of what the script is anymore.

That is where he is right now. That is the life he has. Now he too is lost, desperate to escape from a world where acceptance is granted by birth, not merit, and where your destiny is decided before you draw your first breath. Now he looks back and agonises over his past. His hands are bloody and they won't come clean. The doors you he happily walked through, where did they lead him? Is there a way back? Can he turn back now? Does he have that choice? Did he even make the 'choices' that led him here in the first place? How can he get out? With so many bad choices behind him, will anyone believe that he just doesn't want to be the person he appears to be? Can he convince them? Is it in him to make whatever grand sacrifice or gesture that will be needed before those with the means to help him will be willing to?

He doubts it. He's never been good at being good. Lies and mistrust are the only companions he has ever known. He doesn't even know where to begin. Now as always, he has no choice. So he carries on, the sneer remains, but it is a mask now, long since bolted in place and forgotten. Behind it he seethes and struggles with his demons. He is weighed down by the regrets that dog him, regret at not seeing his life for what it was sooner, when perhaps there may have been time to alter his course. At every turn, he feels the cold touch of uncertainty for what the next day will bring, and he feels the fear…fear that he is trapped now, and being herded toward a fate he doesn't want with no choice, no way out…nothing to hold onto.

Time is running out, and he knows it. Each step moves him closer to the doom he can't escape. Each day he loses a little bit of what tiny hope he has mustered. The end, the wall he has been hurled towards, is looming ahead and any moment now, he will strike it…

It's strange how a moment can change everything. A chance encounter, neither expected nor sought, but which forever alters your future, the decisive moment in which your world finally made sense, the fulcrum on which your future hinges.

Here we have it, just a moment. Here we have two souls, equal yet opposite. Both struggling to survive in a world that makes no sense to them, both consumed by the fear that haunts them. Hers, that her life is just a shade, a fragile illusion that will shatter at the first misstep and his, that his life is being held just outside his grasp, a token to draw him on into the final act of the performance of his existence. The two of them march ahead, neither paying attention to where they are going, neither able to tear themselves away from their own problems for long enough to avoid the inevitable…they collide, body to body, as ships in the night. There is nothing about the collision that is out of the ordinary. Her shoe collides with his shin while his shoulder connects with her jaw. Physics being what they are, and with her weight not being his equal, it is her that buckles first under the impact. Instinct kicks in, her body tenses and her arms flail in an attempt to prevent her face from slamming into the cold tiles. He recoils and shifts his weight rapidly to avoid falling to the floor along with her.

All of this is automatic, none of it is intended, yet as he spins his shoulders and ducks so as to allow his arms to ensnare her slender form, a note chimes in his head that he cannot ignore. There is no reason to do this, but he is catching her. He can't explain it, not even to himself, but he knows that this is right…he is doing the right thing by catching her. She doesn't deserve to be hurt just because he was too caught up in himself to watch where he was going. If he can catch her, if he can spare her that pain, then maybe…just maybe he will have done something good for a change.

Her mind flashes cold and tense as the world spins around her. Her balance is gone in an instant and she is going to fall. The thought of catching herself doesn't matter; she knows it will be pointless. Where had he come from? Why did she have to walk into him? Why oh why wasn't she watching where she was going? What kind of simpleton was she to allow herself to walk into someone head on like that?

The image of the tiles looms before her, but she doesn't care. The impact will hurt, but so what? She only has herself to blame for this. Pain will remind her not to fall again in future.

Her self-abuse is halted abruptly as an arm seizes her firmly around her chest and her tumble halts. All her thoughts scatter in a moment. She should be falling, she was falling, why has she stopped? The arm that was holding her shifts as she feels the realisation hit her. He has caught her. She had fallen due to her own stupidity and now he has caught her. A jumble of thoughts exploded inside her. Why has he caught her? How did he react so fast? Had he intended to trip her in the first place? If so, then had he also intended to catch her? The thoughts and questions grow in number and intensity as she feels herself hauled upright.

A slight groan escapes his lips as he lifts her back to her feet. It is more the awkward angle at which he is holding her that makes lifting her difficult than her weight, she is far from heavy. Pain has blossomed and burns steadily now in his shin from where her shoe hit it, but he barely even notices it. He caught her, he did it, alone, for no reason other than it was the right thing to do. Was it a decision, had he chosen to do it, or was it mere instinct? Half of him wants it to be the former, a real choice he made for himself…the first one ever. The other half of him hopes that it was nothing more than instinct, born from his desire not to allow harm to befall an innocent girl. That…could that mean that he wasn't a bad person deep down?

She is settled now on her feet, but he doesn't let go. Something in him makes him hold on. She doesn't need him anymore. It wasn't like he saved her life or anything, she's not hurt, not even winded, a little flushed and flustered maybe, but nothing more. Yet he holds on, unwilling to let this moment pass. The scale of the deed doesn't seem to register. He saved her, he caught her, he did it, and he doesn't want to let that go for fear that it will be the end, the first and last good thing he will ever do and it will be over. Then what? Will anyone care? Will anyone even remember it?

Her weight lands a little off centre on her feet. It takes her a moment to catch her balance. Only then does she realise that he hasn't released her. Why? What purpose does he hope to serve by holding her? Does he want to laugh at her now, and turn this into a joke at her expense? She looks at his face. He's looking at her, but not at her eyes. His eyes don't seem to focus on anything as he stares into nothing. A bolt of energy runs through her. In his eyes she can see nothing but confusion, fear and emptiness. It's not her face, those eyes aren't hers, and yet its as though she's looking into a mirror. He's like her…lost and all alone, it couldn't be clearer to her if it were written on his pale forehead.

She knows then that he doesn't want anything. This isn't the prelude to some joke or snide remark, and even if one comes now, it will sound hollow, she's seen his heart. He's holding onto her because at that moment, he doesn't know what else to do. A touch of fear washes over her as she realises that she doesn't know what to do either. Her mouth opens and she draws breath to speak, still unsure of what to say, but the breath is pulled from her as his eyes snap into focus and lock onto hers.

He stares at her, not able to do anything else. If he lets her go, it will be the end of him. He caught her, he saved her, its nothing, but it's all he has. Does she know? She was going to speak, but she seems to have changed her mind now. He's lost, unsure now of what to do. He knows he can't hold onto this moment forever, but he doesn't know how to let it go. His eyes probe hers, seeking drain every last detail from them for him to commit to memory. Her arm moves. A pressure builds on his chest and burns its way down into his heart.

She lays her hand on his chest gently, a gesture, as though to say thanks, but somehow it doesn't seem to be enough. He deserves more. He caught her. She fell and he caught her. He didn't have to, he probably wouldn't have even wanted to had he thought about it, but he did, and he deserves to know that she is grateful.

Forcing her will together, she takes a breath and breathes, "Thank you," in little more than a mere whisper.

The sound of her speaking shatters the moment, it can only have been a moment, probably no more than a second, but its gone now and she finds that she misses it. Before she knows it, she is free of his grip and has turned from him to wander once more along the path she has chosen. Her mind now rings with different thoughts. A missed step…she had fallen, and he had caught her. This was his world, she was the alien in it, and he had caught her. He was like her, was that why he had done it? She was the alien here, and yet they were the same…both as lost as each other, lost in the same world. Could they really be that different? Maybe this world was as alien to him as it was to her. Would he catch her if she fell again?

He watches her walk away, down the path of her choosing. The memory of her touch lingers on his skin. Envy fills him at her choice. Why is that choice denied to him? Why can he not be like her? Free to choose his own path. He pauses in his thoughts. Was that right truly denied to him? Was it still?

'Thank you,' those were her only words to him, so simple and quiet. He had caught her. For that time, that brief moment, her path was open to him. He had taken a step with her. A gesture…a simple act of kindness…was that all it took? Was that the way back? Was each step as simple as that? She had fallen and he had caught her. Could he do it again?

Maybe…


End file.
